012 (The First Straw) [SVW]

He'd overslept— like the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, he kept glancing at the screen of his cell phone as he bolted through the packed airport concourse, his carry-on case bumping along behind him. "Please be delayed," he huffed, wishing he'd just opted to skip the management meeting the night before. It had turned into nothing more than a childish argument that had left him tossing and turning until he'd crawled out of bed to finish off the bottle of Crown Royal he'd been nursing all week. Not as though his voice was loud enough to carry beyond Jackson Lynch and Lilith McCarthy making all the decisions anyhow— he was nothing more than a placeholder because the board had backed him on Tara Shannon's insistence. He was simply the odd man out, trying to keep that last shred of sanity in the booking committee at Full Throttle Wrestling. Skidding to a stop at his gate, he looked up in dismay to see that he'd arrived just a little too late. The plane was already headed down the runway.

"Goddamnit," the expletive left his lips as he turned on his heel back towards the way he'd come. He hadn't actually seen Chauncy since August, unless bi-weekly conversations over FaceTime could be counted as such— in his mind they really didn't. Glancing around, Larry Gowan made sure that nobody had overheard his lapse in self-censorship. Thankfully not a single person was paying any attention to the diminutive Canadian standing beside the entrance to gate 21 with a crumpled ticket in his hand and tears in his eyes.

This trip had already been postponed twice thanks to FTW's ludicrous scheduling. Maybe he could find a flight with a few connections that wouldn't really ruin the timeline. At the very least, he was going to try. He had to try.



Ignoring the buzz from his pocket— the sadly-predictable call that part of him had been waiting for— Chauncy Nottingham wove his own way through the crowds of holiday-makers and long-losts, curling his lip a little at a couple flinging themselves at each other in enthusiasm. He was most certainly not in the mood for that kind of nonsense. Part of him wanted to go over and tap one of them on the shoulder, ask which one of them was the one who loved more, and warn him about heartbreak.

But no. That was a far-too-demonstrative course of action. He hated to be a cliché, but there was something to be said for stiff upper lips.

Paging Mister Nottingham to the courtesy desk. Mister Nottingham, you have a call at the courtesy desk…

Maybe there was another Mister Nottingham racing towards the call, but he knew better. The same way he knew what that ignored call was going to be about. No. Home.

There was a kind of over-extended professional patience in the tone the second time.

Mister Nottingham, you have a call at the courtesy desk. Paging Mister Nottingham to the courtesy desk, you have a call. He wondered idly if there was a stock list of ways to rephrase the same request.

Fine. Right. Courtesy desk. The girl behind the desk, poorly-lit by the yellow illuminated sign, looked expectantly up when he approached. "Yes, I have a call? Nottingham?"

"Oh, thank goodness— I thought I was going to have to end that call," she said, her eyes worried but her smile spot-on. She drew a light, touch-pad phone from the reception desk and popped it on top. "There you are, Sir."

One tight smile later, he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. "Airport attacked by sharks? Sudden unexplainable stomach ache? Can't be bothered?"

There was a pause, a sudden silence that said more than any words ever could before Gowan's voice came through. "I missed the flight. I've rescheduled it, though. Managed to catch a last-minute cancellation on one but it had a layover so I'll be a little later than expected."

"Oh, excellent. Good for you." There had been another side to his refusal to answer the phone: the sure knowledge that right now, under the— let's be honest, rather dreadful— circumstances, Chauncy had lost his usual tight leash on his own behaviour. There really wasn't room for both of them to be at the mercy of their feelings, and he wasn't sure Larry was capable of reining his own in.

Usually that was a pro, rather than a con, but well.

The sigh was audible. "Skippy, I'm sorry. I had a meeting this morning and it ran longer than expected."

Red rag, meet bull. Chauncy inhaled sharply, opened his mouth to force some kind of response from a throat locked tight with the readiness to roar. A tiny croaking sound slipped out, and he pressed his lips together, shaking his head as though Larry could hear him. "I—" No. Locked again. "D—"

No key was to hand, so he simply pulled the receiver away from his ear, looking at it wearily, and pressed it back into the cradle.

Almost immediately, his cell phone vibrated again, the staccato double-pulse that meant he had a text message.

He ignored the buzz from inside his jacket pocket and flashed another one of those tight courtesy smiles at the woman in the blue blazer, inclining his head politely at the identical smile in response as she pulled the phone back to the territory of her desk. "Thank you," he murmured, and pulled his phone from his pocket to simply turn it off.



When the cab finally drove up the long and winding driveway from the road, Larry was convinced that he was going to have some sort of spectacular cardiac event from the stress. The place looked vaguely familiar but it had been more than five years since he'd been here and that had been in the middle of winter. Looking down at his cell phone, he wasn't really surprised to find that he still had no calls or messages, despite leaving so many for Chauncy that he'd completely overloaded his voicemail. 

He met the driver's eyes in the mirror as the car pulled to a stop. "I'm sorry to have to ask you to do this, but could you wait for a few minutes? I'm not completely sure this is the right house— if it's too much trouble, I understand."

The driver shrugged, "a few more minutes won't hurt but I'll be keeping the meter running."

"Right. Of course. That's fine." Gowan gathered up his jacket from the seat, struggling into it before he opened the door. Once his feet were on solid ground, he stuffed his cell phone back into his pocket and stared up at the house for a few seconds. There were a half dozen cars parked in the laneway, a few more blocking the triple garage doors. If it wasn't the right place, there was certainly some sort of gathering going on here. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled out a pack of gum and popped two pieces into his mouth in a pathetic effort to camouflage the smell of liquor on his breath.

The walk up to the door took less time than he'd hoped and then there was nothing left to do but knock— or rather, ring the bell. He did, listening to the chime echoing beyond that great big door. It was opened a second later by a butler, or at least he assumed it was by the suit the man wore. He took in Gowan's disheveled and rumpled clothing with a look of polite disdain.

"May I help you, sir?"

"I… hope so." He swallowed hard, running hands through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the unruly strands. "I'm looking for my—" he paused, wondering if these people even knew about the marriage. "Is Chauncy Nottingham here?" There was a slight incline of the man's head and Gowan let out the breath he'd been holding in. "Oh, thank God. I've been… my goodness, it's been a rough 24 hours. That's for sure."

He took a step towards the doorway but the butler didn't move. "Whom may I say is calling?"

"Gowan," he almost stumbled over his own name, "L-lawrence Gowan. Can you tell him I'm here? I don't think my phone is working properly because I haven't gotten any of his messages. I'm just going to go back to the car and get my suitcase." He was rambling and he knew it, but the words tumbled out one after the other until he was breathless.

The man turned, closing the door and Gowan made his way back to the waiting car, forcing himself to smile as he leaned in the window. "It's the right place. Thanks for waiting. Just add another fifty pounds on for your tip," he straightened up and tapped the side of the car before grabbing his suitcase from the already popped trunk. His palms were sweaty when he stepped away from the car again, turning back towards the house. Now the door was slightly ajar so he took that as an invitation to go in. The butler met him at the end of the hall, reaching out to take his bag.

"The rest of the family is in the parlour. Tea and sandwiches will be served shortly. Master Nottingham is in the back garden. If you follow the hallway to the library, the garden is—"

"On the other side of the French doors. Yes," Gowan said softly, nodding, "I remember. Thank you."

"I'll put your things in the guest room, should you want to freshen up."

He shook his head, wishing he'd eaten something instead of spending the entire twelve hour flight getting bombed on cheap whiskey. His stomach was clenching, the liquor still in there sitting like a ball of molten lead. "I want to— I need to see him first." His heart was pounding and he could hear that panic in his voice but he couldn't keep himself from saying the words, "how is he?" Before the butler could answer, Gowan shook his head, "forget I asked. That's stupid. Of course he isn't fine. I'll make my way out there. Thank you."

He turned, making his way slowly down the bright hallway with his hand trailing against the wall. He was almost jogging by the time his boots began to whisper across the plush carpet of the library and then he froze in front of the doors. Chauncy sat on the bench in front of the fish pond, dressed smartly in a tailored suit. His head was bowed, his hands clasped together between his knees as though he was praying— it broke Gowan's heart to see him looking so dejected.

This wasn't something which could be undone, though. Resurrection was something for movies and books, not reality, in which you had to cast your loved one to earth or fire and then play host for a passel of relatives and the types of family friends who you might as well count as such, serving them sandwiches and champagne while all you really wanted to do was to crawl into bed and hope that you could sleep, and hope that you'd wake up and not… not that cliché, 'it was all a dream', but wake up and feel some sort of okay. Chauncy had heard the adage, like most people, that time was a healer, but he'd disagree. It was sleep. You just needed to find the right amount of sleep to bring yourself back to relative functionality, and then let it go.

But of course, sleep was impossible without relaxation, wasn't it? His thoughts circled, and he tried and failed to make an analogy for explanation in the movements of the fish, who weren't at all as tense as he was.

Gowan left the door open behind himself, approaching with the grace and stealth he was known for inside the ring. Standing on the level above where his partner sat, he looked down over the manmade waterfall flowing into the pond, trying to find the right words to start a conversation with. "I can see why you like it out here," the words were soft, his voice pitched loud enough to carry over the gentle splash of the water but not enough to carry back to the house. "It's peaceful."

"Mm." Chauncy's shoulders tightened in on themselves, hands pressing together, pressure almost painful at the wrists. He closed his eyes, leaning further forward and sighing heavily.

That small little sound was like a knife stabbing through Gowan's heart. He closed his eyes for a second and then made his way down the path that led through the greenery to the little patio down below. "I got here as quickly as I could. I didn't have the address and you didn't answer when I called to ask for it. I went to the church instead— they were nice enough to point me in the right direction." He stopped a foot or so away, keeping himself out of arm's reach. "I realize you're angry and you have every right to be—"

"I turned my phone off. It seemed better to avoid wasting either of our time on excuses, particularly given that I buried my mother today." Fingertips pressed to Chauncy's lips as though to forestall further comment.

"I'm so sorry," Gowan's voice almost broke as he moved in closer. Since Chauncy was sitting in the middle of the bench, he didn't bother to try and join him, instead stopping beside it and reaching out to rest his hand on Chauncy's shoulder. "I don't know what else I can do."

The slide to the left of the bench could have been interpreted as an invitation to sit, but Gowan knew it for what it was: a pull away from him. "I can smell liquor from here, so don't. Don't know what else you could have done." He made a curt noise of dismissal. "Perhaps turning up may have been a start."

His hand was still outstretched, the gesture almost a plea that matched the tone of his voice, "please… do you think I didn't want to come? Is that what you truly believe?" Gowan let his hand fall back to his side, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. "It was a mistake… I…" he could feel the prickle of tears as he broke off, shaking his head. "If it makes you feel better to rage at me, go ahead. I won't stop you."

"Rage at you?" Chauncy shook his head sadly. "No, that's not going to make anything better. If you'd wanted to be here…" Another slow exhale. "I don't believe you didn't want to be here, Lawrence, however I think we both know that you prioritized it last because it was… the last on your priority list." He shrugged. "I don't want to be last on your priority list. Anymore."

Gowan took a step back, shaking his head in an effort to negate the words that he knew in his heart to be true. "That… that's not true. I've got a lot of responsibility now and…" he bit back the words because he knew they were just more excuses. "I missed you," he said softly, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. "If nothing else… that… that's the truth."

One pale hand reached out, caught in the fabric of Larry's sleeve, and Chauncy heaved himself to his feet, striding towards the house and dragging his partner along with him, lips still pressed together and face almost bone white apart from two hectic spots of colour high on his cheeks. He shoved open the French doors to the library and locked them behind them, doing the same with the double doors that opened onto the hall, before pacing a furious line between the two, one hand tapping at his leg as he struggled to organise his thoughts into a neat list.

Gowan watched him pace, biting his lip so hard that he tasted blood. In all the years that they'd known each other, he'd never seen Chauncy this close to the edge. "Say something," he finally broke the tense silence because he couldn't stand it anymore. "Talk to me, Skippy."

"Talk to you?" Chauncy's voice was low, hissed. Not entirely for the sake of the guests just down the hall, either. He'd always been more dangerous when pushed past the point of yelling. "I can barely look at you. You fob me off for months… too busy here, too busy there, you have responsibilities, you have commitments, and you and I both know - so don't bother denying it - that the reason you've prioritized those commitments over me, over us, over what I've been going through with my mother, all this time, is because you put everybody first except yourself. And I can deal with this, usually, at least. But this time? This little act of self-sabotage? You hurt me in your efforts to hurt yourself— not for the first time— and hurt me to the point where I'm not sure I can bloody well survive. You had… what was it? A meeting? A phone call? A signing that went over time? It doesn't matter what it was, it was a reason not to come. A reason to leave me hanging, here, because you'd rather suffer alone than actually do some work on the relationship that's meant to mean the most. So don't come here, not today, for God's sake, and try to tell me that you love me."

He paused, chest heaving, one finger lightly pressing into Larry's chest. "You want me to wash my hands of you? Fine. Keep pouring water."

Gowan stared at him in stricken silence, tears spilling down his cheeks when he blinked out of necessity. There wasn't a single word in any language he spoke that could undo the damage he'd done, he knew that. "I…" the words caught in his throat, lodged on the lump there, "I should…" he shook his head, not even knowing what he was trying to say.

"Should is so easy in hindsight, once the need for actual action is past, isn't it?" Chauncy closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, stepping back and going to the doors. "I should go and attempt being sociable. You? I don't care, as long as you're out of my sight."

"I'll leave if that's what you'd prefer," Gowan said softly, finally able to muster words now that he wasn't looking at that sea of hurt in those beautiful blue eyes he loved so much.

The laugh was bitter, painful, not even slightly amused. "I've been hoping you'll stay for months. Right up until this morning, I was hoping you'd come here, and stay. Stay. Go. If you want my permission to do what you want, fine. You will, either way."

"Do you know what I want to do?" The words came out haltingly, "did you even stop to think before you tried to make this out to be some sort of war… some sort of personal attack? Maybe if you'd listened to any of the messages I left you… maybe if you'd read anything I typed," his laugh wasn't bitter, no— it was sorrowful. "I want to hold you. You made it abundantly clear to me that you didn't want that when you hung up on me. Thanks for that, by the way. I should have known not to expect you at the airport and that's fine because putting me through that was punishment enough. I'd have been on time for the service if you had… but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is how you feel— I'm not trying to be smart— today is about you. Not me. And you're right. If I'd really wanted to be on that plane yesterday, I would've been." Gowan shook his head, sighing. "I'll go into town and find a hotel room. I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have."

"It is very… very hard, Lawrence, to think of this as anything but personal. I waited for a very long time at the airport the first time. I wasn't going to do it a second, and be disappointed, and make it to the service last. I'm surprised you're here at all." He unsnapped the lock. "If you want to stay, stay here. No half-measures. But find something the hell to do while I play host and avoid getting… impossible, myself." He opened the door, standing there for a moment with his head bowed, fighting the stinging in eyes and throat.

Gowan nodded even though Chauncy wasn't looking at him. "I'll disappear… good enough at being invisible when I want to be." He lifted his hand, wiping the tears from his face. "I'm sure the tea and sandwiches are being served by now." He tried like hell to keep his voice level as he turned towards the shelves, feigning interest in the books even though he couldn't read the writing on the spines through the tears doubling his vision.